Bright colors envelop the landscape 
of the picture we paint
As the brush glides seamlessly across the canvas,
it stops to breathe and soak in the curious textures
Textures that ask to be seen—not only by the hand that graces them
But also by the eyes that incessantly peer at the scene

Because those who view, do not always see
And those who listen, do not always digest
There is no true notion of ‘greater than,’
when the equal symbol points toward all directions
The flaw lies in its lazy paralleling,
when it grasps onto the in-bounds 
And carelessly abandons the rest

The big, the different, the minuscule elements
Always hiding in plain sight
Waiting for someone to see them
Like light switches that wait obediently
For a finger to cue them with its meager touch 
Albeit the problem does not exist within the elements
It resides in the selective blindness of creators

For every thousand, only one can see
That a mere statistic does not warrant 
Ignorance toward the overlooked
There must always be room for everyone
In the canvases of work, life, and art